


The Loneliness of Command

by my_daroga



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Dubious Consent, Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, M/M, Masturbation, Pon Farr, Sexual Fantasy, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_daroga/pseuds/my_daroga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"James Kirk was 34, the captain of a starship, had two best friends and a smile that got him nearly anything he wanted. All in all, he thought, he’d got things pretty well sorted out."</p><p>Jim contemplates the choices that brought him to this place. [Warning: Contains depictions of sexual fantasy that could be interpreted as having consent issues, though the "victim" is the one having the fantasy, here.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loneliness of Command

James Kirk was 34, the captain of a starship, had two best friends and a smile that got him nearly anything he wanted. All in all, he thought, he’d got things pretty well sorted out.  
  
It had taken some doing, a few missteps, some very good relationships that had ended very badly, and some less-good relationship which had ended worse. But he thought he had a pretty good policy in place, now, and while certain aspects of it were less than satisfying the benefits far outweighed the inconveniences.  
  
Item one: No sex with crewmembers.  
  
This was pretty much the only item, actually, though it had several reasons and addenda.  
  
Reason one: Sex with crewmembers complicated command. For the simple reason that as carefree as Jim was about some regulations, and as much as he welcomed input from experts in their respective fields, the ship needed a single commander. That was him. He didn’t care what the other crewmembers did with themselves or each other. In fact, he considered such activity healthy and natural—provided, of course, it followed his general policy of consent and respect. And sometimes, sure, sex was just sex. But all too often, it wasn’t. Sex complicated things. And if it complicated things for one partner, it complicated things for everyone.  
  
Jim needed to be in command, in order to do his job. He needed to be able to rise above them in a crisis, for his position to be as little complicated as possible. For them to listen to him and consider him a source of authority. He was already a far more familiar captain than many of them were used to. That was just part of who he was. No sense making it worse.  
  
Reason two: Sex with crewmembers might reasonably be seen as coercive on his part. And even if both he and his partner(s) denied it to the stars, even if Starfleet had no actual regulations about fraternization, he couldn’t stand the thought that the person he was in bed with was affected in any way by his position of authority over them. That wasn’t what he was looking for in a relationship, for any length of time.  
  
Reason three: Relationships—of which sex was an important part—had not worked out well for him in the past. Even those which had ended amicably always ended when his career or hers pulled them apart. He had made his choice, and he was happy with it. And while he was capable of casual sex, and happy with it, he had a feeling that anything started during a five-year mission would have a tendency to become something more serious. Something that would, inevitably, not work out.  
  
Reason four: Gary Mitchell. Gary had been the first man to remind Jim how things could be. To teach him, conclusively, that it was all right for him to like men. And Jim had killed him.  
  
He didn’t think that their relationship had led to Gary’s death. He didn’t regret his own actions—he’d gone over and over the thing in his mind and found no other solution under the circumstances. But that hadn’t made it hurt less. And he had resolved that that pain wasn’t worth it.  
  
In practice, what this meant was that Jim spent a lot of time thinking about his crewmates in the privacy of his own mind and quarters, while in public he still flirted a bit and walked around without his shirt on and maintained his professional, albeit quite informal, relationship with his crew.  
  
There was an exception, however.  
  
Most of the time, Jim figured there was no harm in his personal spank bank, that Sulu or Uhura or that blonde technician in Science weren’t hurt by his idle thoughts, and they never showed on his face the next day. Nothing would come of it. If it had, it would have been just sex, more or less. Not that Jim hadn’t been tempted.  
  
Tonight was different, though. He was exhausted, but it was the jumpy exhaustion that came in the aftermath of adrenaline and he needed release. Spock had almost died. Jim had. But he wasn’t thinking about that. Nor was he thinking about Spock, he told himself as he shrugged off his tunic and his pants and slid into bed, already hard and not at all contemplating the way Spock’s eyes had lit up, the way he’d said Jim’s name, deep and slightly unhinged and seeming to say so much else with those three letters. The smile…  
  
He wasn’t thinking about Spock, because Spock was… different. Spock was not a casual fuck, not someone to be bandied about even in the privacy of Jim’s mind. Spock, pure and alien and so human at the same time, struggling in a way Jim could not understand but could and did respect, was not the sort with whom Jim could contemplate the sort of easy-breezy fun he could conjure up with any of the rest of the crew. Well, except Bones, but that was different, too, Bones was his best friend, and anyway Bones had never expressed interest…  
  
Spock was his best friend, too. Jim had had sex with friends before. He’d tried Bones, after all, even if it hadn’t worked. But there was nothing about that precision, of hair/voice/stance/expression, that invited Jim closer than the chess games and the occasional “Jim” he’d wrung out of his first officer. No, he have to muss that inky hair, disturb the equilibrium of those dark tones, get inside the Vulcan in a way Spock could not help but object to, with his privacy and his barriers and the hard-won ground Jim had gained before Bones had come and distracted him and Jim had decided he needed them both.  
  
As friends. As companions. It was all he could ask for, and in truth his conscious mind refused to ask for more. He had his ship, he had his friends, he had shore leave. It worked.  
  
His hand crept down to wrap around his cock, no shame in this act, nothing to distinguish it from a hundred other times, as the bottle of lube in the drawer by the bed would attest. Being alone didn’t have to mean being lonely, or was it the other way around?  
  
Jim could feel him, a constant presence at his back as if he hardly needed to give orders anymore. Spock knew, and would follow. And Jim could almost forget that, almost take advantage of it. Almost feel him in the room now, staring down at him, watching him feign sleep perhaps, waiting for the moment to bend closer, to whisper something dark in guttural Vulcan that Jim could only guess at the sense of.  
  
Jim would hold steady, his eyes closed, waiting. Waiting for Spock to make that first move, because he had to, didn’t he see? Jim couldn’t. Not as his captain. Not without knowing he hadn’t ordered Spock into this, like he did so many other dangerous situations. Not knowing what he did now, about Vulcan biology, about the rituals surrounding his people that Jim had willingly died for today and still bore the marks of.  
  
Now he felt the weight of Spock on him again, as he had earlier, only this time it was the press of something else against Jim’s leg that had his attention. Spock twisting that strip of leather around his neck, his breath coming faster, eyes fever-bright and hardly seeing him but Jim knew, he _knew_ , that Spock knew him, could see, could feel him respond as his hand moved faster and in his mind Spock dropped the ends of the ahn-woon and sank his teeth into Jim’s shoulder, suddenly bare, as the rest of him was, and Jim bucked up against him, feeling Spock’s hard cock pressed against his back and he was ready, waiting, his body begging to be claimed even as part of him fought to turn around, to turn over, and do the claiming himself. Spock pressed him into the glittering sand of Vulcan, the heat suddenly welcome, matched by the hot hard length making its way inside him, in Jim’s fantasy welcome and open as Spock pounded into him over and over and Jim just tried to hold on under the onslaught, vision dimming, and in his own hand he lasted an amazingly short length of time before spilling over his fingers and belly, the spell broken, an odd, unfamiliar shame settling over him as he cleaned himself up.  
  
He knew that day that he could spend the rest of his life with Spock. With Spock and Bones at his side, he could ask for nothing more. And that was why he would forget this. Jim was good at forgetting, when he had to. He couldn’t afford to lose Spock, not to enemy fire, not to his own peculiar biology, not to Jim’s insatiable hunger or Spock’s inevitable reaction to it. As First Officer or friend. So he would forget, and Spock would remain aloof in his mind, and tomorrow Jim would think about Sulu or Uhura or the little blonde and preserve that thing he’d built here that he never wanted to let go of. And _pon farr_ would just be another phrase he didn’t really understand, a fever broken.


End file.
